


Temper

by cannonball



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anger Management, Bullying, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Mental Instability, Physical Abuse, Stuttering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 08:16:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1380511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cannonball/pseuds/cannonball
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Styles, not even legal yet, knows more about the juridical system than most boys his age — probably even more than those older than him, but only because he spends so much time being taken away to jail. Battling with an extremely short temper, or more precisely IED, he acts irrationally when faced with confrontations. Living with a single mother — who works crazy hours to fit her son's needs — and no father gets tough at times. </p><p>After yet another expulsion at his current high school, Harry and his mother are forced to leave England, where schools are no longer willing to accept her son, and move to California. There, Harry meets one particular boy who changes everything, but of course it takes Harry time to realize that what he considers an 'annoying kid' to actually be a blessing. All Harry knows is that he wants nothing to do with the people of L.A, especially not the raven-haired boy with hazel eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Temper

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story that's been sitting in my drafts (phone) for the longest time. I finally decided to start working on it again so bear with me if the ideas aren't flowing as fast as they should. I've never written anything like this before so if I make mistakes or I'm off about certain subjects please kindly let me know :)
> 
> I should be able to update this weekly or every two weeks if I can. Please let me know what you think of the plot and if it's worth continuing! xx
> 
> * I will add characters and tags as the story proceeds.

_It's not something I control, nor something I want to control. The blood that rushes through my veins is on autopilot, you think it cares what the fuck I think or want?_

_I lose the ability to cope with reality; a rage that is too often underestimated bubbles to the surface and yanks me back, giving me a front seat view of the damage I'm causing, but that's all I can do; watch_. 

_The hungry need for revenge becomes bigger than anything else. Bigger than my conscious — but even that is nonexistent  Bigger than my mother's words. Bigger than the inevitable consequences. I black out when that supposed rage takes over and I often don't realize the degree of damage I cause._

_Writing in this book isn't going to make the constant ache in the tips of my fingers go away.  
_

_Writing in this book isn't going to erase the frightened look on my mother's face._

_Writing in this fucking book isn't going to bring me back home._

_Why can't we let this go? Why does my mother care? Why do stupid people who keep calling themselves 'professionals' care? I was born to destroy everything in my path and I was born to be feared so let's leave it at that._

_The solitude never bothered me anyway._

_\--_

As the handcuffs got secured around him and the metal material sank and cut into his wrists, Harry winced, hissing at the policeman who was working on restraining his hands from their natural ability by pining them behind his back. His heart was thumping hard against his ribcage, the small snowflakes that fell from the white sky melting as soon as they landed on his burning exposed skin, his coat having been long forgotten inside the mall, where the policeman hadn't allowed him to retrieve it. The unnecessary amount of force he had used against the teenager had been uncalled for and if it weren't for the surprise that came along with it, Harry wouldn't have allowed the man's hands to touch him. Goosebumps had started to form on his arms, his thin short-sleeved shirt no match for the strong winds that blew past him and occasionally seeped into his clothing, sending his hair into a messy frenzy. He couldn't seem to care about the numbing cold, not when his body temperature was rising with each passing minute. The restless tugging and shoving made him angrier, he didn't want the stranger touching him or controlling him like that, no one was allowed to touch him like that man was touching him.

His arms were contorted uncomfortably behind his back and if it weren't for the officer's tight hold on him, he would've been able to relieve some of the pain, but the slightly shorter man pushed him forward, his movement quick and sharp, causing the handcuffs to slice at his skin. Harry's teeth were clenched so tight, it felt as though they were about to shatter into tiny white broken pieces; his aggravation only building up as the man tossed him around carelessly, like a rag-doll. Clearly, the police officer was taking advantage of his higher power in this situation but higher power or not, Harry was two seconds away from kicking him where it counted most. He felt the heat slowly creep up his cheeks and down his neck, the burning sensation shooting down his fingertips and toes at an impeccable speed, the amount of it clouding his vision red. He could feel the tears burn at the brim of his eyes, feeling the frustration claw at his skin, the feeling of knowing he couldn't do anything about his anger only making his bones shake with rage.

"Stop doing that." He struggled to say, as the man bent him over the car, pushing him down with an unnecessary force that left him breathless once his stomach came into contact with the hood of the car, his shoulders twisting and shuddering abruptly. He grunted in pain but kept his calm — or at least, tried to — refusing to retaliate even as the officer shoved the side of his face against the car's surface, the cold stinging his cheek, one hand pining his handcuffed hands and the other sliding down to pat at his waist and legs for any possession of weapon. Harry took the time to inhale deep breaths and let out long exhales, his stomach pressed against the car making it difficult to do so. The officer's experienced fingers groped and poked at his clothed clad skin, sliding up a more private area.

"I'm not armed." He growled, feeling the veins in his neck pop out as he struggled to raise his head and have his voice heard over the raucous that had started to crowd the small police car. Just what he needed, a fucking audience.

A few people had gathered around them and while some were silently staring with curious eyes, others had taken their phone cameras out and were snapping pictures and filming the arrest — as if being arrested made way for a good laugh or a good entertainment. The boy's emerald orbs glanced around, taking in the dozen of faces scattered around the plaza. It didn't bother Harry one bit; what did though, was the fact that he couldn't use one of his hands to flash them the bird or better yet, flash them something else that would hold a bigger reaction from the crowd. The simple thought caused a small smirk to play on his lips.

The policeman took his sweet time searching Harry, his fingers roughly skimming over each square inch of the boy's body; a boy who's patience was slowly dissolving, his back cramping as he held the uncomfortable position. His cheek had went numb, no doubt a deep red colour replacing the once pale olive skin. As time passed, he unconsciously started blowing at the little patch of snow that had gathered on top of the hood of the car beside him, his mind using the distraction as a therapy, a way of calming down.

His eyebrows met in the middle when he was forced back up, the sudden pull causing his bones to shift painfully. "Fuck! Really man?"

"Not a word." The officer spat condescendingly, turning the boy around and continuing his search. Harry stood tall against the car, his eye twitching as the officer kneaded his skin, fucking  _kneaded_  his skin, the crease between his brows only deepening. Something was wrong with this officer, and Harry presumed the fucker probably didn't like kids.

"That's my prick, you pervert." He snapped, having had enough of the inappropriate gropes and shifted away from the man's touches.

Harry bit onto his bottom lip, the skin underneath it turning white, drawing blood from the force of it, and tried taking slow, deep breaths. He tried replaying his mother's wise words in his head, the many words she had whispered to her son throughout the years, her soft but firm voice guiding him through the judgmental glares, snide comments and rough hands, reminding him that one thoughtless action shouldn't lead to a life full of regrets, therefore he should take the time to think wisely. But it was hard to think wisely when his body shook with rage and his only escape was to see blood of some sort or at last a purple bruise on pale skin.

Once his head had been pushed down into the backseat of the police car, Harry closed his eyes, his chest slowly heaving up and down. The taste had almost been there, at the tip of his tongue, and so had the adrenaline that had rushed through him during that short period of time. He had almost caved in; willed his body to let the fury take over and fill his senses up to the brim, the extra amount spilling down. It was much more easier that way; to give into temptation and thrill.

Harry gritted his teeth as he stared at the officer's head and images of his fist punching into the thick skull clouded Harry's vision and mind. The satisfaction he would get from punching the officer's head in would be undeniable and heart warming. Two things stood in his way, though; the handcuffs and the bulletproof glass. 

Another bigger and more important thing stood in his way, as well, his mother. She was the only person who could get him to calm down and reevaluate his impulsive decisions, impulsive decisions that always only got him in some sort of trouble. Harry couldn't help it, though. He acted irrationally for the most part and allowed his emotions to control him. It was extremely hard for him to walk away from a fight or from someone who was taunting him. He needed to release some of the steam that would work its way inside of him. The sound of the impact his hand would make against someone's nose was priceless and would liberate so much tension and hatred inside of him; it had become like a sort of therapy, a coping mechanism.

"How old are you, son?" The officer scoffed, briefly staring at him through the rear-view mirror.

"Take a wild guess, old bag." 

His smirk disappeared instantly which caused one to curve onto Harry's lips, his not-so-cheery facial expression exciting him.

"You better hope mommy can get you out of this one, bastard."

Harry's nose flared and his breathing became rapid, the oxygen in the car suddenly diminishing, an invisible force pressing against his chest, forcing the remains of breaths he held to escape him. The policeman's last word rang in his head like a broken tune, repeatedly hitting a nerve inside of Harry that only heightened his sudden mood shift. His hands started gliding against each other, desperately trying to slip past the handcuffs, but all it did was eat at his skin so Harry groaned in frustration and pressed his teeth together tightly, willing his breathing to go back to normal. He sat back in his seat, ignoring the pain that sprang up his wrists and shut his eyes, finding it easier when he couldn't see the cause of his anger

\--

"Harry, what were you thinking?" His mother's soft voice rang out from the other line, the disappointment apparent in her voice. She was probably sprawled out on the couch, exhausted from her long shift at work and the last thing she needed was to get a call from the police station, about yet another incident involving her son.

"I don't know. Whatever, mom. Can you just please come get me?" He sighed, his eyes wandering around the small familiar room. He hated the place with a passion but he somehow always found himself coming back; bringing with him all the broken promises he made to the last policeman that had last brought him there. Sure, it'd be easier for him to keep away from the place by straightening his attitude up but it wasn't like the kid could help it. He needed to get his point across at all times. The continuous mischief weren't regretted at all, Harry might cause a lot of problems and get in trouble for it but he never did anything he would later on regret. Whatever he did to someone, in his opinion the person deserved it.

"Of course, dear. I'll be there in fifteen." She said, her voice tired. "Harry, dear?"

"Yeah."

"Breath in and out. Think of your happy place, baby."

The young boy nodded despite the fact that his mother couldn't see him and waited a beat before hanging up, not bothering to say goodbye. Fuck his happy place. It couldn't do anything for him; not when his mind was clogged with rage and a distinct need of revenge. His hands were shaking, the unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach never ceasing. He paced back and forth for a while, his fingers pushing through his curls as he breathed through his mouth, hoping to get more oxygen that way and therefore calm down faster.

"Back in the cell." The officer shouted but Harry didn't budge, his feet continued to step ahead of each other, one at a time. The boy was completely engulfed in his thoughts, his fingernails scratching at his scalp, hoping to get rid of the excessive ideas that littered his mind. Bad ones at that. Harry didn't have a conscious - at least not the traditional one or one that fit society's standard. He wasn't rational therefore his conscious was useless. What controlled him was itself unstable; no one should rely on their emotions, but Harry did. He rarely let anything or anyone decide for him, but his emotions had a tight grip on him and had the ability to toss him around.

"I said back in the cell." The voice had gotten closer, probably only a few feet away from him but the boy didn't look up. His hands were linked behind his neck as he stared up at the ceiling, his lungs refusing to take in the oxygen he desperately needed. His mind was overflowing with words such as 'kill' and 'blood', the end result only encouraging him to act upon the words and release the thick tension that had his muscles cramping.

"Fucking kid. I said back in the cell." The officer went to grab at Harry but the latter one yanked his arm back before grabbing the policeman's lapels and slamming him against the cold white wall, his hands pushing against his neck. The officer huffed out a throaty breath and squirmed hopelessly, trying to pry Harry's hands off him.

"Don't fucking swear at me. Don't fucking tell me what to do and don't fucking touch me." He snarled, his hands shaking as he moved them to strangle the cop, struggling to keep a hold on him at the same time. The policeman's face was slightly turning red, the veins in his neck popping out wildly and the corner of his eyes clouding.

"Got it? Who's laughing now huh? I'm gonna fucking kill you!" The green eyed boy heard himself say, no longer having control over the situation. It had gotten to the point where he had to finish what he started. He couldn't back down now, he couldn't stop. His mind was filled with words from the cop and how he had disrespected him too many times. He deserved whatever was coming for him and Harry wouldn't regret his decision afterwards, not with the way he was feeling at the moment; a sudden rush that left him craving for more. He pressed his thumbs into his windpipe, cutting out any oxygen circulation and almost broke out into laughter when the officer's lips started to quiver. The teenage boy got lost in his own world, a world where scumbags like the officer suffered for the things they said and did, so the next movement that arose took him by surprise. He felt an electrifying shock travel up his side and pump at his heart before he fell onto the ground, felt tremors carrying themselves around and blacked out.

\--

Harry woke up with a startle, his body hurling forward as his heart rate increased, the vivid nightmare haunting each corner of his mind. Parts of his dream still lingered on his body, settling deep into his skin and it was as if he could still feel the fresh bruises, the raw punches and the trickling blood. He let out a broken sob and tried to adjust his vision, disoriented. His mind raced as he recognized the small jail cell and he started to freak out.

Where was his mother and what time was it? His eyes glanced around frantically, his green orbs searching for some sort of comfort but all he noticed were the small black walls that were staring back at him, almost mockingly and it was as if the walls were closing in on the boy, the irrational fear of being crushed flat frightening him. He yelled his mother's name, hoping she would appear out of thin air and protect him because only his mother held that power.

"Harry, mommy is here. It's okay, baby. Excuse me, can you please get him out of there?" His mother pleaded with the officer who couldn't care less. After begging him not to press any charges and turn a cheek at what her son had done to him, the officer had reluctantly agreed, much to her relief. But only because she had played the struggling single mother card so well, and while her son had been in there, gaining his consciousness back, she had been out there taking care of papers she had come to familiarize with.

"Mom!" The teenager cried, shooting up from the uncomfortable bed and pressing himself against the cold bars, wanting to feel his mother against him.

"Just a second, baby. You're okay. It was just a dream. Remember what we talked about?" She shushed him, slipping her thin fingers through the bars so she could caress her son's dampened cheek. Harry nodded against her, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, just like his mom taught him.

The officer made his way towards the duo, his heavy set of keys dangling in one hand as he chewed on something in his mouth. One brow was raised as he listened to the exchange between mother and son, wondering if the crying boy in front of him was in fact the same one that had his hands wrapped around his neck a few minutes ago. The policeman made eye contact with the boy, questioning his decision, maybe he shouldn't have let him off so easy, but the teenager wasn't even staring back at the officer. His eyes were trained on his mother, a desperate look on his face, his body tightly pressed against the bars as if he was trying to push past them and get to her. Nevertheless, the policeman unlocked and pushed open the bars, allowing the teenage boy to step out.

Harry ran straight into his mother's arms, her arms wide open and awaiting him. He felt her warmth and sweet perfume engulf him, his legs almost giving out on him as he felt a massive relief wash over him. The boy clutched onto her, his face buried into her neck as he shuddered, willing his body to relax now that he felt safe and at home. His mother was whispering sweet nothings into his ear as she caressed his back, slow upward and downward rubs, something she's been doing since Harry was a kid. They only pulled back from the hug once Harry's trembles had quieted down, his labored breathing having gone back to normal. Her fingers ran through her son's unruly hair, using her hand to push his head down so she could rest her forehead against his.

"I'll make you some tea when we get home, okay?" She whispered, her hands sliding down to grab at her son's cheeks. Harry nodded and pulled back, coming back to his senses and finding the crucial need for his mother to no longer be there. The last tremors had left his body and he was no longer frightened (maybe because of his mother's presence), and therefore didn't need his mother babying him.

The boy slipped his hands into his pockets and started walking towards the exit doors, his eyes avoiding the officer and his hand instantly clutching at his side, where he had been tased. His fingers were itching to reach forward and give the son of a bitch the beating he deserved and had sadly weaseled his way out of but with his mother only a few inches away from him, Harry couldn't, so he pushed the doors open and inhaled the fresh and much needed autumn air, leaning against the brick wall near the door. His mother signed her name onto the board before following her son out the door, thanking the policeman for his kindness and wished him a lovely evening.

"You assaulted the officer?" She asked softly, her hands gripping onto the straps of her black purse and a side glance to his right was all Harry had to do to notice his mother's hands shaking. Her eyes gleamed in sadness, her face contorted in a slightly pained scowl as she shook her head in disappointment.

"He wouldn't stop bugging me." He said quietly, staring down at his shoes.

"He could've pressed chargers, Harry. You're not gonna be seventeen forever. You know, one day you'll run out of this luck and they'll send you to juvie." Her bottom lip started quivering and he could see a few tears gather at the brim of her tired eyes. "You think I want that for you? You think I want my baby in  _prison_?"

"I'm not going to prison, mom. Relax." He frowned, rolling his eyes.

"You're so selfish, Harry." She looked away, bringing her hand up under her nose as the tears rolled down her cheeks, a few sobs racking her body. She stepped back when her son tried to wrap his arms around her and shook her head, forbidding him to touch her or say anything. "No. You only think of yourself, Harold. They're gonna take you away from me. What am I gonna do without you?"

"No one's gonna take me away from you." He gritted, his hands closing into fists at his sides. His mother suffered enough on a daily basis having to take care of an unstable teenager, and losing her son would probably cause her to fall into a great depression, so Harry was going to do whatever he had to in order to protect his mother. Harry's brows met in the middle and he shook his head, as well, wanting her to understand that what she was saying was nowhere near the truth. He cared about her more than he cared about himself and never would he ever intentionally inflict any sort of pain on her. He'd have to die before he could even come to think of it. "I'll always be here, mom. Please stop crying." He asked as he nervously started fidgeting with his fingers. He might be an insensitive jerk at times but seeing his mother cry broke his heart.

"I just wish you would listen to me." She gave up trying to give her son the cold shoulder and instead rounded her thin arms around his torso and cried, her head buried in his chest. The green eyed boy didn't say anything and held her like he's always had, his fingers running through her dark hair. No matter the number of times they've had the discussion, Harry's mother knew her son wasn't going to be changing anytime soon. She loved him to bits but she was afraid of what the future had in store for him if he didn't change his behaviour. 


End file.
